I Was A Soldier
by AndyHood
Summary: What if Colonel Klink is not the bumbling idiot that everyone knows him to be? Klink is hiding a dark past that is reawaken one night and Hogan and the gang find out that their lovable Colonel Klink is not who he seems.
1. Chapter 1

It was a regular night in Stalag 13, the lights were out in the prisoner's barrack and the only one who was awake were the guards. Well all of them except for Sergeant Shultz who had once again fallen asleep on duty. But strangely enough, all prisoners were where they were supposed to be, asleep in their bunks. None were out blowing bridges, masquerading as officers, or meeting underground agents. Everything was calm, until it wasn't.

Screams tore through the night, loud in the previous silence, startling everyone out of their beds. Colonel Hogan was quickly out of the Barracks ahead of most of his men as he followed the guards that ran straight for the Kommandant's personal quarters. As another scream tore through the air, it was obvious that that was where the screams originated from.

Hogan was one of the first inside the door and instead of seeing something murdering Klink the guards were surprised to see Klink in his bed still screaming. Not just screaming though, these screams were bloodcurdling. The guards and Hogan just stood there shocked, none knew what to do.

Until a figure pushed its way through the bodies, "Back, back, back" came the voice of Sergeant Shultz. The normally laid back Sergeant had a hard edge to his voice that was shocking to many on duty, never had they heard such a tone and many shivered and did what they were told. The only one who dared to stay was Hogan as he watched the Sergeant approach the bed calmly and sit on the edge as the Colonel screams decreased from murderous screams to tiny whimpers. Shultz had barely touched Klink's shoulders before the man sat straight up and grabbed the large Sergeant of the Guard.

"Shultz," whimpered the Colonel clinging tight to the guard. For a moment he did not sound like a middle age man, instead like a lost child and it shook Hogan to the core.

"Shh, it's alright Colonel" whispered Shultz, moving to wrap his arms around the trembling man. "You are here"

The other guards and prisoners that had followed them stared in shock as the Colonel clung to the Sergeant weeping.

"The Somme, Verdon, Hans. All of them dead, everyone dead" he whispered as he clutched hard at Shultz.

"I know Wilhelm, I know" answered Shultz, memories of the same battles flashing through his mind.

For a while it was just two old soldiers comforting each other as the old horrors of the First World War plagued their minds once again. Neither noticed when it was Hogan that motioned everyone out of the room and with a final glance left the two alone. It took a while but finally Klink managed to calm down enough to let Shultz go.

"Thank-you Shultz" whispered Klink as he wiped his eyes.

"Everybody has rough nights Colonel" said Shultz gently patting Klink on back. The Great War might have been over for a long time but for many of their generation was still haunted by the atrocities of what happened.

"I thought I put my bad nights behind me" whispered Klink rubbing his forehead.

Shultz only knew too well what Klink meant. "Try to get some more sleep Wilhelm." Though Hans knew that it was useless, he had spent similar nights just like Wilhelm. Except he had a loving wife to help him through those long nights, and Wilhelm had nothing. And Shultz knew the other man long enough to know that the other man wouldn't want him to stick around.

"Thank-you Hans" Klink said.

The old Sargent just nodded before leaving the Colonel alone in the room. As soon as the other man had left, Klink swung his legs out of bed and headed towards his liquor cabinet. He bypassed his 'good' stuff and grabbed the bottle of his 'cheap' stuff. Such a simple trick to switch the whiskey in each bottle for the other, he could always count on having his 'good' bottles emptied and his 'cheap' ones never touched. For being so smart, the POW's never caught onto the fact of what Klink was doing.

Klink spent the rest of the night and into the wee hours of the morning drinking, trying to forget.

*0*0*0*0*

"What do you think that was about Colonel?" asked LeBeau as soon as Hogan returned back to the barracks.

"I don't know LeBeau, I don't know" said Hogan looking out the door to Klink's quarters where Shultz was walking down the steps, looking older than he had ever seen him. "But I intend to find out" promised Hogan.


	2. Chapter 2

Klink was exhausted, he had managed to lock down these memories for almost twenty years but last night had been rough. He hadn't meant to he had seen some of the pictures in General Burkhalter's files of the front, and those pictures of all those young men cut down in their prime brought them all back.

Suddenly all he could see was his friends, boys the same age and younger looking up with sightless eyes. Bodies bloated and rotting, with piles of rats, some as big as cats, eating the dead flesh.

When you live a lie sometimes you believe it. Klink had been living a lie for most of his life, a pilot afraid to fly and a bumbling fool. But that was all falling away and the man Klink swore he would never be again was returning. A man who had lived hell on Earth and lived to tell about it, who had killed without so much as blinking. It was scary how easy it was to slip back into his old skin, how natural it felt to be this man again and that scared Klink the most.

He was currently sitting in his office with his face in his hands. Cursing the day Hitler decided to invade Poland and start this whole mess.

"Colonel Klink I have a complaint to make," came the voice of Colonel Hogan, interrupting his thoughts. Klink wanted to sigh, he was in no mood to deal with Hogan's shenanigans today.

"Not today Hogan," said Klink not lifting his head from his hands, Hogan noticed the monocle laid on the table and the tired slump of his shoulders

"Kommadant" started Hogan.

Klink seemed to erupt, before Hogan knew what was happening he was being dragged out by his coat collar.

The whole camp froze at the sight of Colonel Hogan being thrown from the Kommandant's office. It wasn't like a shove, but a full blown toss. Hogan landed in the dirt in front of the office.

Klink did not say anything, he just turned around and went back into his office. He went around his quarters disconnecting mics and making sure that the tunnel under the stove would not be opening. He wanted to be alone here, truly alone.

He went to his bedroom and brought out his violin. Klink dropped the bumbling idiot act and picked up his violin, a depressing song flowing from under his fingertips. Ever since the Great War, the only music that flowed smoothly from his fingers was depressing. The notes were smooth and flowing, not the jerky motions he used when playing where the camp could hear.

Closing his eyes as he played he could see it. The trenches filled with dead, the stench that filled the air, and the march through Belgium where his fellow soldiers killed and burned everything in their way. The Americans were right when they called it the rape of Belgium. But for their Kaiser and for the glory of Germany they committed those crimes. And it was happening all over again, except Hitler was a madman and Klink was no longer a young man.

Klink poured his soul out into his instrument, relishing the feel of the strings beneath his fingers and the bow in his hand. For the first time since the Second Great War had started, Klink's violin sang beneath his talented fingers. Flowing out of his quarters and into the compound.

Many who heard it thought the Klink had simply turned on a record, but there were a few, manly those in Hogan's barracks who could hear the difference. The somber mood of their Kommandant seemed to spread through the entire camp. They didn't put of a fuss when Shultz herded them into the barracks.

But before the normally jolly man could leave, Hogan laid a hand on his shoulder. For the first time, Shultz leaved Hogan with a suspicious wary look. Whatever was bothering Klink seemed to also effect Shultz as well.

A little voice in Hogan's head warned him about letting sleeping dogs lie. But for the sake of his men, and all the people throughout Europe that was counting on his network, Hogan had to know what was going on.

"Shultz, what is happing with Klink?" Hogan asked softly, sincerely. "It's like he's a completely different person from yesterday."

Which was true, yesterday none of the POW's would have believed Klink was strong enough to pick up a bucket of water, but now they saw the hidden strength the man had hidden from them.

Shultz once again seemed to age a decade in a span of a minute. He seemed to debate with himself for a minute.

Shultz knew he shouldn't talk about the Kommandant's personal business. However he knew the men in this barrack. Knew that if they didn't get the information they sought, they would go straight to the source. Shultz knew Klink was treading a fine line, a line Shultz had walked so long ago. It was only because of his wife and children that he had been able to move on, to work past what he had seen during those long years. Klink had chosen to bury everything, the first time Shultz had talked to Klink months after the war he had been shocked. Gone was the confident young man, in his place was a bumbling fool. He had heard stories of what Klink had become in the trenches. If answering some of Hogan's question stopped Klink from fully breaking down he would gladly explain everything he knew.

He carefully made his way over to the table and sat down heavily. Wordlessly LeBeau handed him a cup of coffee as the others settled around the old guard.

"Danka," Shultz said taking a fortifying sip before sighing heavily.

"The Great War changed everyone that fought in it" said Shultz looking at Hogan with tired eyes, eyes that had seen too much. "Those years in the trenches brought a sense of brotherhood to everyone that experienced it. Colonel Hogan you cannot imagine the losses, the bodies that piled up, the smell of men rotting, and the horror of talking to your friend one second and he was gone the next. Ordered again and again to climb out of the trenches and straight into enemy fire. Only to be beaten back over and over, never gaining an inch. Men broke, men that were never the same again."

For the first time Hogan and the others didn't see the cheery soldier, but one that was old and tired who had fought in a war many thought would never happen again. But here they were.

"I thought old Klinky was a pilot," said Newkirk raising an eyebrow at Schultz breaking the silence. "He's always going about the illustrious Luaffwafa."

Schultz chuckled softly, sadly. "His dream, what he wished to be."

"But why did he always say that he was one?" asked Carter.

"Children don't ask for details when you're only a pilot, don't force you to remember things best left forgotten," answered Shultz, his eyes haunted. "But towards the end of the War his Father finally managed to get him transferred into the Luaffwafa, he never flew but it got him out of the trenches. Out of the mud and blood, where clouds of yellow gas smothered you, and clouds of chlorine burned your lungs."

Schultz took another sip of coffee. "You never get over the War. For years afterward, a smell, a sound, and I would be back in the trenches. Give the Kommandant a few days and he will be well," Schultz said.

At least he hoped all would be well.

* * *

Hello, long time no see. Sorry for taking to long to update, kinda forgot about this story. But got an email today saying that this story was nominated for a Papa Bear Award- portrayal of a canon character (Klink) Soooo I decided to get this chapter that's been basically done since last year, hoped you liked!


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